Simon Cowell, Cheryl Cole and Gillian McKeith disappoint (Rousse)

Posted on February 25, 2011 by Dreamaticus

Simon Cowell and Cheryl Cole’s sudden departure from the X Factor left a huge hole that I was expected to fill. Knowing very little about the music industry, I let the bony woman through to the next round. She almost crushed the life out of me with her grateful hug.

Simon Cowell can be found elsewhere on Dreamaticus. See:


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It was not long after my uninspiring interview with erstwhile Dr Gillian McKeith that I spotted the little black car parked in a quiet square near my office. Although it was an elderly F registration Golf from the mid-1980s, it had clearly been well cared for and gleamed in the sunshine under a tree. It was unlocked, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to climb inside and pretend that it was mine. From the paraphernalia on the dashboard I guessed that it belonged to a woman about the same age as me. I was later proved right when a bunch of final year students crammed into it to drive to a Business School exam. One of their mothers was the owner. As I questioned them about the condition of the car, they complained about how many ‘facts’ they had to memorise for the assessment. They would much prefer to write discursive essays along the lines of those required for my Knowledge Management class.

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TPR and I were showing an American tourist around Edinburgh. We knew he was a fraud the minute he boasted that he was a very close friend of DC and her husband J, and how he adored their two great Danes. (D is, of course, DT. She lives not with a husband and hounds, but with C the cat.)

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Searching for silver and scallops, with a car smash in-between (Rousse)

Posted on February 24, 2011 by Dreamaticus

With pick-axes and shovels we leapt into the old Land Rover and headed for the hills. Our secret mission was highly illegal: to mine a supposed seam of silver not yet charted by the authorities. It was a huge risk, but if we were successful and not detected, all our money worries would be over.

It was only when we reached Stornoway (masquerading as Hexham) that I realised that I had been oblivious to the whole 37 mile journey from Timsgarry. TPR congratulated me on my driving, but he spoke too soon. I turned right up the hill signposted to Allendale, clipping several parked cars and lamp-posts in my path. I wasn’t too bothered: the red Peugeot 205 only suffered minor damage across the bonnet and was still road-worthy. TPR did not agree.

Not long afterwards I was delighted and amazed to be experiencing VJ’s legendary generosity at first hand. This year I’d made it onto the guest list for her annual party. Other guests included QM graduate KW, who had recently given up his consulting business for a technical role at BT. NR, another former student a couple of years below KW, sat behind me on the bus complaining that he needed so much sleep that he was forced to make a living working afternoons only. The all-day event culminated in a massive feast at the Edinburgh Assembly Rooms on George Street. A rumour circulated that there were scallops on the menu, but all we could find was a plate of cold salmon. At the end of the party VJ declared that she was opting for a quieter life. Her plan was to sell most of her belongings and move into one of her smaller properties. She would be giving up most luxuries, including ‘subscription’ make-up. The catalogue of goods for sale was already available. I expressed interest in a bag of half-finished knitting projects and a pirate-themed laundry basket.

The next day I went for a walk along the cycle paths with VJ. Her daughter and three year old grand-daughter, up from Christchurch in Dorset for the weekend, joined us. TJ spoke enthusiastically about her new life as a young mother in the south of England.

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Socks on the run (Belle)

Posted on February 24, 2011 by Dreamaticus

My favourite knee-length grey socks had run away from home. I tracked them down to a conference being held in a holiday camp and decided to become a delegate. As we ate dinner in the large refectory, my ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend flew her model airplane into the window. I wondered if she had been on board. And if so, how had she shrunk herself down?

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Weebles wobble – and so does Rousse

Posted on February 23, 2011 by Dreamaticus

I was so well-practised at office moves that I soon organised the contents of my desk drawers, cabinet and bookshelves into neat piles: pens, notepads, paperclips, drawing pins, bath tub toys and Weebles (both commercially produced and ping pong ball versions lovingly home-made by the international students). The Disney posters were certainly not mine, so I saved them for VE to decorate her room at Dundee University. It was only after his brief visit that I realised that I could have offered EMc the yellow plastic ducks as a present for the new baby.

Later on I unpacked my belongings in my new bedroom at the huge Victorian house. It felt like coming home to the WH, especially since I was surrounded by members of my family rather than work colleagues. As I was retuning the ancient stereo to Radio 4 for the Friday night comedy at 6:30pm my sister J walked through the door with an armful of vintage clothing. I had a shelf-load of toiletries ready for the swap. However, taking into account the size of the 1980s dresses, our conversation immediately turned to how much weight you could put on in 30 years, and the planned exchange was abandoned.

Belle and I were discussing a moral dilemma. How could a charity focused on supporting those in debt justify building up its own funds by street collection?

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Performance anxieties (Rousse)

Posted on February 22, 2011 by Dreamaticus

Over three decades had elapsed since my last encounter with this group of girls from my first secondary school, and I was curious to know what had become of them. In the course of conversation arch-bully CMcG confirmed that she had joined the forces. Unfortunately no one knew what had become of timid GT, other than she was widowed young. It was interesting to learn that LMc had been in care the whole time that we knew her.

As soon as the cinema lights dimmed I left the girls at the back of the room and took a seat to watch the film. From this position, however, the sound quality that very poor. I left my place and walked all the way to the front of the theatre to look for a better seat. A bunch of geeks dominated the front row engrossed in their interactive cinema consoles. If I sat with them I would have to put up with the clicking of their devices. I decided on a seat about five rows back, but even here there was a problem. DC and his cronies from Imperial complained that the position of my head spoilt their view of the screen. This was hopeless: I left.

On the way out I bumped into NU and RK. NU introduced me as the ‘colleague who blogs her crazy dreams’ to his friends from his theatre group. His lack of awareness that he was starring in an unfolding revery as he spoke amused me no end. NU and RK invited me along to a Fringe performance in another venue so I followed them along the bridges. I was appalled at the price of drinks at the makeshift bar: £9.60 for two glasses of bottled water. I refused to pay.

Meanwhile the police opened an investigation into the long-ago death of my aunt. Our world took a Stieg Larrson-type plot turn and I feared for my cousins’ safety.

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The Glasgow School of Spelling, David Bowie, Andy Warhol, Limmy and a retirement home for celebrities (Rousse)

Posted on February 21, 2011 by Dreamaticus

It was very sweet of the organisers to remember me, but I really didn’t deserve any recognition at all at the engineering teaching awards ceremony. I suspected that BB was behind this. The biggest clue was that it was one of his Indian PhD students who had coordinated everything (with the exception of wrapping up my box of Hotel Chocolat chocolates, which he regarded as women’s work, and instructed his wife to do). Even more surprising was that my former office mate SM was honoured. He worked at a different university all together and, as a professor of media and cultural studies, knew nothing about engineering. In the event SM didn’t collect his award: he was out of the country on holiday in Spain. After the awards were all announced we were taken on a special tour of Edinburgh and Glasgow. Many of the roads had been blocked off to accommodate us all, and a number of the road signs were changed for our amusement. The one that I liked best pointed to the ‘Glasgow School of Spelling’ – in reality, the University of Glasgow.

Associated with the engineering awards was a campaign to win further research grant income for the Institute. I was called back to Edinburgh from annual leave with a brief to charm a number of business contacts into supporting our important projects. It was difficult for me to see how I could contribute. I wandered around outside and watched a young man practise tennis shots. He was singing David Bowie’s ‘Andy Warhol’, but changed the lyrics to ‘Matthew Taylor looks so strange’, presumably because that was his own name. I also came across two QM graduates. One was ET worried about her forthcoming higher exams. The other – LM – complained about her lowly career as a care assistant in a nursing home for aged celebrities, owned by the Scottish comedian Limmy. TPR was nowhere to be seen and again I wished that he would carry a mobile phone. I missed him so much.

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KA was dripping in sweat and covered in dust from digging beneath the foundations of her terraced house in Hexham. She explained that she was building a new basement. Soon they would have 25 additional bedrooms in a house that started off with three.

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Belle at boarding school

Posted on February 21, 2011 by Dreamaticus

I was a pupil at a mixed boarding school where a cruel practical joker was causing chaos and upset. Pupils were waking up on sofas with moustaches drawn on their faces and underwear was being pilfered and mocked. I sat next to the head boy on a coach and managed to switch off the cold air fan, hoping my technical know-how would impress him. I then wrapped myself around him and went to sleep.

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Gordon Brown’s sexuality questioned by single straight man (Rousse)

Posted on February 20, 2011 by Dreamaticus

News of AR’s impending visit spread fast. Those who came to see him included friends from Birmingham University SC (now SL), CP (now CA) and HJ (now HJ). AR’s fame even reached school friends keen to meet this eligible bachelor for the first time. Consequently GT and two unfamiliar Carolyns, both also from Darlington Road in Hartburn, turned up. The taller Carolyn, all botoxed, hair-extensioned and dressed from head to toe in white denim, was making desperate attempts to disguise her age (almost 50). She strode over to the smaller Carolyn and reminded her that they had met before at RG-J and SG’s summer barbecue at Yellowcraigs.

The one person who was not pleased to be in AR’s company was his ex-girlfriend JL. She was yet to recover from the scandal he caused by questioning Gordon Brown’s sexuality in the tabloid press, and then refusing to withdraw his remarks.

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TPR and I travelled back in time to the wet week of the campaign in late December a couple of years ago. I found my haul in a puddle by the busy road. There was a wallet, a driving licence and a posh engraved invitation to the launch of the set of events designed to promote computing as a discipline in Scotland. These were perhaps related to the case of the missing diplomat and we agreed to hand them into the police.

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I was Belle’s pupil, following her advanced nutrition course. It was around this time (C’s death) that I discovered that she was FM’s sister-in-law. I submitted my essay etched into the skin of a green pepper, as per Belle’s instructions. I hoped that the words would not rot away before my work was marked.

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Rousse falls foul of fake friendships

Posted on February 18, 2011 by Dreamaticus

Wherever I went I felt unwelcome. Even so-called friends gave me the cold shoulder. For example, when out walking across moorland with SS on the Isle of Lewis she feigned friendship, yet always ensured that she kept several steps ahead of me, almost as though I was not worthy enough to be in her presence.

On campus at Warwick University the other members of the newly-established management centre sneaked off to the new building “forgetting” to leave me any directions. Even BK (who actually should have been in Bath at the time) pretended that he didn’t know me.

I eventually found everyone in the bar of the students’ union. They behaved like bullying teenagers, half-ignoring me, yet still willing to let me pay for their food and drinks. Only my old Birmingham University friend SH showed any affection, but I could tell that his hug was motivated by duty rather than true friendship.

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A trip to the theatre and ‘slunk’ economics (Belle)

Posted on February 17, 2011 by Dreamaticus

Sitting in the front row at the theatre (some Tudors-style nonsense play) I smiled broadly at an actress and she smiled back. We started chatting while the action took place elsewhere on stage. “Don’t I recognise you from that 1970s programme ‘The Brothers‘?”, I asked. “I used to love that”.

My new Polish boyfriend ran a smelting factory, but I couldn’t understand how it worked. Different lumps of metal, with paper labels stating their value, went into a portable furnace via a supermarket conveyor belt. Surely all this valuable paper-based information would be lost in the flames? The output of the process was called industrial ‘slunk’ and was apparently critical to the UK economy’s recovery.

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